Denial, Domesticity, and a Long Night
by JamiW
Summary: Follow up to 3x08 - a little exploration into the after-party. Spoilers for Cutting Loose and Jane Doe #38


A/N: My first effort at a Major Crimes story, so please be kind. It's written in first person, Sharon Raydor's POV.

* * *

The night got away from me.

It was all just so much _fun_. Unusual, sure, but still very enjoyable.

Having the entire squad over to celebrate Rusty's graduation had turned out even better than I hoped. They're all so proud of him and they really seemed to rejoice in his accomplishment, and I honestly don't think I've ever seen as many smiles from my squad as I did tonight.

_I _haven't smiled as much as I have tonight.

The fact that Chief Taylor wanted to be here as well was a little surprising, although I'm guessing it has a lot to do with the presence of Jon Worth and his assistant…Taylor surely didn't want to run the risk of me somehow upsetting the celebrity, considering he was so generous with his money to the LAPD. Although I do have to admit that the Chief has been unusually pleasant all evening, and it doesn't seem entirely fake.

All in all, I think this night has been a rather surreal experience, but one I don't think Rusty will soon forget.

I know I won't.

"Thanks again, Captain," Amy said as she made her way to the door. It's nearing midnight and with her departure, most everyone has left. "See you later, Jump Street," she adds to Rusty, smiling and waving as she slips out the door.

"I'm never going to lose that nickname, am I?" Rusty asked me with a roll of his eyes, and yet he also can't hide the smile.

_He's happy_, I thought with great satisfaction. _Happy and well-adjusted and maturing…_

It's silly, but I can feel tears burning my eyes again. The good kind of tears, though. There haven't been enough of those lately.

"Not in this lifetime, kid," Provenza responds, pulling his hat onto his head as he walks towards me where I stand near the door. "Could be worse, though," he continues as he gives me pointed look and a small smile.

Witch comes to mind. And countless others.

Fortunately, I don't think those names are used very often anymore, so I can take his remark how it's intended.

A playful and respectful tease.

We've come a long way, he and I.

"Flynn's loading your dishwasher," he mumbles quietly to me as I hold open the door. "I don't know what kind of dirt you have on him that makes him want to be so…_domestic_, but whatever it is…"

"It's called being helpful, Lieutenant," I replied brightly, hiding the rush of pleasure that rolled through me at the knowledge that Andy was intentionally lingering in an effort to _accidentally_ be the last one to leave. "You should try it some time."

"Helpful," he repeated as his brow furrowed and he stared at me hard. "Huh. I've never heard it called _that _before."

I fight the blush that wants to invade my cheeks because I know he's only fishing, trying to goad a response from me. I'm well aware of what he thinks is going on between me and Lieutenant Flynn.

_"He asked about us,"_ Andy told me a couple of weeks ago.

We were having dinner in a darkened little restaurant, pressed into a small booth together, our thighs touching from knee to hip. I remember being very aware of the contact and yet at the same time, steadfast in my position that we weren't doing anything untoward.

_"He?"_ I questioned, tilting my head so that I could look him in the eye and then regretting it immediately because the warmth and vulnerability in the dark brown depths sent - _another_ - tingling feeling through me.

_"Provenza,"_ he responded without any of his usual annoyance or sarcasm. In fact, he was uncharacteristically serious. "_He saw the papers. On your desk_."

He let the words hang between us for a moment, and then he asked, "_You're divorcing Jack?_"

I couldn't decide how to respond because the fact that I'm married has been the lone barrier between us, my stated reason for not allowing things to progress beyond friendship.

And honestly, my newfound albeit still pending freedom…the idea of potential _intimacy_…had me a little scared.

I almost liked it better when I had a solid reason to abstain, a fallback excuse that Andy never questioned.

_"Yes,"_ I answered honestly after another long spell of silence.

"_And you weren't going to tell me?"_

_"It all happened rather suddenly,"_ I hedged.

_"Yeah," _he mumbled as he focused on his plate. "_I can see that. Twenty…what is it now? Twenty three years?"_

"_Andy,_" I chastised, nudging him with my shoulder as I hoped to draw a smile from him. I didn't like the direction things were heading. Like he was angry at me for not telling him sooner, and yet I'd only just decided for sure that I was going through with it. And then I remembered how we started the conversation. "_So wait, Provenza asked about us, as in…how we relate to my divorce papers?"_

_"He figures you're getting divorced because of me. Because of us. But don't worry. I assured him that was the craziest idea he's ever had_," he answered, and he still wouldn't look at me, and it was then that I realized that maybe he was more upset that I hadn't talked with him about the fact that I was even_ thinking_ about it rather than that I'd actually filed, and not because of our _non_-relationship, but because of our most definite friendship.

I didn't share with my friend, even though we've been having dinner together more often than not over the past couple of months.

I think I need to work on my communication skills. I'm great on the job, but I'll be the first to admit that I'm a little lacking in my personal life. It's been far too long since I've had a companion, for lack of better word. I'm too used to being the one in charge. To hiding my thoughts and emotions for the greater good.

Because I felt bad, and I needed to reestablish our usual connection, I put my hand on his leg, squeezing his thigh lightly until he brought his eyes to mine. I wasn't expecting the jolt of heat or the overwhelming sense of intimacy from the action, but it was there all the same and it almost made me forget what I was going to say.

I paused, swallowing hard.

_"I'm sorry_," I told him at last. "_I didn't mean for you to find out from Provenza. I'm still trying to absorb it all myself. It's hard for me to assimilate the fact that I'm actually divorced. Or at least, on my way to it. Sixty days, give or take, and I'll be single for the first time in more than three decades._"

_"Did you think I would put on the full-court press just because you're not married anymore?"_

_"No,_" I answered uneasily, because really, we never really talked about this thing between us, it just sort of evolved, and after my initial reminder of _I'm a married woman_ back all those months ago when I tagged along with him to Nicole's wedding, it was never necessary to bring it up again. He was always a perfect gentleman.

Even when sometimes - if I'm honest with myself - I didn't want him to be.

_"Why would you? We're just friends, right?"_ I continued, my voice sounding breathless and shaky even to my own ears, and I was painfully aware of the fact that my hand was still on his thigh, and that I've never had a friend who made my heart race and my skin flush and whose lips I couldn't seem to take my eyes off of…

_"Right,_" he said with a sharp nod, breaking the spell that apparently only I was under as he turned back to his dinner. "_And that's what I told Provenza."_

_"Okay," _I said as I withdrew my hand and reached for my wine glass. _ "Good."_

The rest of the meal was tense, nothing like the dozens of meals we'd shared previously, and I couldn't figure out what was going through Andy's head, or mine for that matter considering I was suddenly feeling like a teenaged girl around him.

It's not like I'd never noticed how handsome he is. Or how sweet he can be, in spite of how he acts sometimes at work. It's not like I haven't appreciated the way the man can wear a suit - oh my God, _so_ well - or that I've never wondered what it might be like to be with him.

I've done all those things. That last thing has occupied my mind during many more late night hours than I care to admit.

But I'm his boss.

And…and…

Well, I'm his _boss_. It's the only good excuse I have left now.

That, and he's never once tried anything. Yes, there have been a few polite kisses on the cheek, his to mine and the other way around. And there were a couple of time when his lips lingered long enough against my skin to have blown past the classification of _chaste_, but still…nothing more than that, which tells me that maybe this _thing_ being any more than friendship is only in my own head.

He seems perfectly content with the status quo.

Or at least he did before…but that night at dinner, he was moody and sullen and decidedly uncommunicative.

_"You're still mad at me_," I stated quietly as we stood next to our cars, parked along the street outside the restaurant.

_"You think I'm mad at you?"_

_"You're not?"_

He shook his head, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment as he sighed.

_"I'm not mad at you_," he said quietly. "_I think I'm…more mad at me, maybe. And Provenza."_

"_Why?_" I questioned with curiosity, moving closer to him when he leaned back against the passenger side door of my car. _"I mean, Provenza I get,"_ I teased lightly, letting it hang there in hopes that he might smile. My teasing didn't work earlier in the restaurant, but I wasn't too proud to try again.

_"For suggesting it,_" he answered, and the smile appeared but it was sad and self-deprecating. "_And me for buying into it, even just a little."_

I watched him silently for a minute while the meaning of his words bounced around in my mind, and then I got it.

_"You were hoping I was doing it for you…so that I could be with you."_

He shrugged and smirked a little more and said, "_Hey, a guy can dream, right_?"

His gaze fell to the ground again, and I was hit with this wave of…something. Something powerful that had me reaching for him, stepping closer as I grabbed onto the front of his shirt, and when he looked up at me with surprise, I pressed my lips against his.

For one horrifying second, he didn't move at all. It was just me, holding him hostage while I covered his mouth with mine. I was almost ready to accept defeat when I felt his hands come around my back, one moving up into my hair while the other pulled me even closer to him so that our bodies were flush, and that's when I learned something new about Lieutenant Flynn.

I might be his boss at Major Crimes, but in_ this_ arena - this kissing thing - _he's_ the one in control because as soon as he started kissing me back, I was completely lost in the moment, pliant and submissive as he turned us around so that it was my back against the car. His body pressed into mine and while one hand stayed entwined in my hair, the other sought mine out, clasping his fingers with mine in a sweet, almost innocent gesture even as his tongue swept enticingly over my bottom lip, seeking entrance.

Permission granted, of course. At that moment, I was ready to give him anything he wanted.

Funny, when only hours before, I was still committed to this friendship thing.

Although I've always been pretty good with denial, and even better at denying myself.

It was undoubtedly the most intense make-out session of my entire life - which admittedly, there haven't really been all that many. After the first few years with Jack, it was mostly_ wham bam thank you ma'am_, and after Jack left…well, I don't even want to acknowledge how pitifully long it's been since I've been good and properly kissed.

But after a few minutes, he pulled back, and a ragged _I'm sorry_ fell from his lips. I barely heard it over our combined labored breathing, and my brain was covered in a lust-filled haze, so when the words finally registered, he was already two steps back from me, running his fingers through his hair.

"_I'm sorry,_" he said again. "_I shouldn't have…_"

_"You didn't. I did,"_ I reminded him, unable to keep the annoyance and confusion from my voice. "_I thought that you wanted…"_

_"I pressured you," _he interrupted.

"_What?" _I asked as I finally started to regain my focus. _"You pressured me? Have we met?"_

That pulled a smile from him. The first real one I'd seen all night.

_"You have a lot going on right now. There's no rush,"_ he said, and I know that's the reasonable thing to say, but at the moment, I didn't want to be reasonable. I've been more than reasonable for twenty three years.

Oh.

That's when I got it.

He didn't want us to do something that was a direct result of my divorce.

Weird how much was tied up in those damn papers.

He wanted the divorce to be about him, but not to the extent that I act hastily and sleep with him - because yes, that's where I was planning to take things.

And as I stood there staring at him, his lips swollen and his eyes dark and his fingers still anxiously raking through his hair, something else hit me.

All the dinners we've been having, and the not-so-innocent looks, and the late night conversations…it's been building into something so much more than friendship. Something more than lust.

_I'm really in love with him,_ I realized.

The thought was another jolt to my system. It also scared me to death.

_"It's getting late,_" he said as he once again moved close to me. He reached up and ran his hand over my hair, letting the ends fall through his fingers as he brushed his lips over mine again. Gently this time, but with no less heat. His voice was soft and rumbling as he said, "_I'll see you tomorrow."_

I had to give him points for his restraint. And for the fact that he made me feel utterly desirable even though he was sending me on my way.

"_Good night, Andy,_" I conceded, although I did take the opportunity to get in one more kiss. With my hand on his tie, holding him in place, I put everything I had into it, wanting him to think about me long after I drive away.

When I finally pulled away, he had his eyes closed, and I couldn't help but smile. I patted his chest and turned to walk around to the driver's side.

_"Captain_," he called after me.

_"Yeah?"_

_"You're a hell of a kisser,"_ he said with a grin.

_"You're not too bad yourself."_

That was two weeks ago.

So when Andy told Provenza that there was nothing going on between us, he was telling the truth.

More or less.

But the truth has changed drastically since then.

And I've had many more opportunities to experience Andy's kisses, but that's all the farther we've let things go.

There's been so much going on, both at work and at home, that we agreed to take it slow.

But all that is none of Provenza's business.

And it's especially not his business that we might take things past the kissing stage tonight. At least, if I have anything to say about it.

"You can help him finish up in the kitchen, if you want," I offered my lieutenant guilelessly while I kept my expression neutral, knowing he'll decline. "I'm sure he'll share the leftover cake with you."

"I wouldn't dream of honing in on Flynn's cake, Captain," he responded flippantly. "I'm going to catch up with Sykes, for a ride."

"Andy's probably almost done," I offered. I hadn't planned on him being a taxi service tonight, but it's obvious we aren't fooling Provenza, so I need to throw him off his game. Besides, Andy can always take the lieutenant home and then come back.

"If you're giving him cake, I'm sure he'll want to eat it, too," he said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, and I don't know how in the world he made that statement sound dirty, but he did, and then he stood there and stared at me pointedly, like he was waiting for me to…I don't know what. Break into a confession that I'm in love with his partner? Not going to happen. At least, not to Provenza. I'm still figuring out when I might share that tidbit with Andy.

I held his gaze defiantly, practically begging him to be a little bit _more_ insubordinate so I can put him in his place because no matter what he thinks is going on and no matter what the truth might be, it's none of his damn business.

"Here, I mean. He'll want to eat it here, and it'll get late," he mumbled, catching onto the fact that I'd had enough. "And it's past my bed time, so…good night, Captain."

Relieved to be done with the conversation, I smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder as he went through the door, and then I closed it behind him. I turned around to find Rusty still loitering in the living room. I thought he'd gone into the kitchen to help Andy, but apparently not.

"Why was he being so…weird?" he asked me. "There's plenty of cake. He could've had some."

I hummed dismissively, not wanting to venture into a discussion about cake metaphors - and God, was that really what Provenza was suggesting? I shoved the thought from my head.

"So you had a good time?" I asked him as we moved towards the kitchen.

"How many times do you need to hear you're right, Sharon?" he teased.

"As many times as you feel like saying it, kid," Andy spoke up, having heard the last bit of our conversation. "That's a good lesson for you. It never hurts to tell a woman she's right."

"You could benefit from that lesson, Lieutenant," I told him, and it hit me that I like just looking at him.

Or maybe it's looking at him in my kitchen, with his sleeves rolled up and his tie long gone, and my counters cleaned to the point of sparkling.

No, I think it's just looking at _him_.

Anywhere.

It really does a number on my system, and I'm _really_ thinking that two weeks is more than long enough for this whole taking it slow business, because it's honestly been brewing for so much longer than that. And I can't remember ever wanting someone as much as I want him, and considering we're just _looking_ at each other, with about five feet of space between us, and Rusty in the room, that's really saying something.

"You're right, Captain," he replies with a boyish grin, and then he winked at Rusty and mock-whispered, "See? That's how it's done."

"Oh, so you just say it, even when it isn't true?" Rusty asked him, playing up to the whole joke of me not being able to hear.

"Exactly," Andy agreed, and when Rusty reached in the refrigerator for a drink, Andy looked at me, holding my gaze for a second, and then purposely lowering his eyes, looking over me with obvious intent before returning his eyes to mine.

I could feel the heat from across the room. As he started a second visual perusal, I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth and realized I was holding my breath.

"Well, it _is_ true when I say it was a great party, Sharon," Rusty said as he closed the refrigerator, drink in hand. I could tell he was looking at me, so I tore my gaze from Andy and plastered on a smile, in spite of the fact that arousal zipping through me at a ridiculous rate.

"Are you okay?" he asked me, looking at me with concern. "You're all flushed."

"I'm fine," I responded immediately. "It's just been a busy day."

"That's my cue," Andy said as he wiped his hands on a dishtowel. "I'll get out of your hair."

"And I'm going to bed," Rusty stated, "So…good night. And thank you."

He gave me a hug, one that came with much less awkwardness and trepidation than in those first days of physical affection, and then he waved at Andy and headed off through the living room.

"Oh, and Flynn, you should save some of that cake for Provenza. He seemed to think you were going to eat it all, or something. I don't know."

"Sure thing, kid," Andy called back, and then he looked at me with a puzzled expression. "I'm eating cake?"

I closed my eyes and shook my head, silently telling him not to ask, and then I focused my attention on the sound coming from the hallway. I guess Andy was doing the same thing because as soon as I heard the tell-tale click of Rusty's door, he crossed the room and pulled me into his arms.

"I feel like I've barely seen you all day," he said quietly. "But for the record, you have an incredible sense of occasion."

I chuckled at his remark as I pulled him even closer, resting my cheek against his chest.

"It was fun, wasn't it?"

"Who'd have thought that having Taylor and Provenza in the same room would be a good idea?"

"Everyone is so proud of Rusty," I reasoned, even though I knew he was only kidding.

"You did good," he murmured, his lips nuzzling against the side of my neck.

"It was just a few balloons…a cake…"

"I mean with the kid," he interrupted gently. "Of course everyone is proud of him, but Sharon…it's you, too. He couldn't have done it without you, and I don't just mean the roof you put over his head."

His earnest remarks brought the tears to my eyes again, and for several minutes, we just stood in the middle of the kitchen holding each other.

It was so _nice_, being comforted and held. Him having no expectations of me, just wanting to be part of my world. It made the previous _absence _of any such presence in my life glaringly obvious, and it made me appreciate him all that much more.

"You aren't really planning on going home, are you?" I asked, tipping my head up so I could look him in the eye.

Two weeks ago in the restaurant, I'd been surprised by the emotion held in them. Or maybe I'd been in denial about that, too, not believing anyone could have those kind of feelings for me. But tonight, I revel in it. Just a look from him, and I feel so special, so loved.

He continued to hold my gaze as my question hangs in the air between us, and I feel nervous and excited and my desire for him feels like a living, breathing thing.

"You want me to stay?" he asks, his voice all deep and husky, and if I think I was aroused before…

"You don't want to?"

"Honey, I want to...I want _you_ more than you could possibly imagine," he rumbled as he brought his lips to mine again and then he kissed me, this time with such tender adoration that it leaves me breathless.

If we were home alone, I'd surely have him right here in the kitchen.

But since Rusty's right down the hall, and I would die of mortification if he ever caught us in a compromising position, not to mention what it would do to _him_, I managed to be rational in spite of my lusty haze.

I slipped out of his arms, instead taking him by the hand as I started moving out of the kitchen, towards the hall.

"Come on," I encouraged, although none was necessary.

"What if Provenza's waiting by my car?" he asked, causing me to stop in my tracks for a moment as I pondered that scenario…my lieutenant being sneaky enough to monitor when Andy actually goes home…it's not beyond the realm of possibility.

And then I decided that I don't care.

"Then I guess he's in for a long night."

The End


End file.
